


Geronimo

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: A Million Little Pieces [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bathroom Sex, Drinking, Fashion & Couture, Free Fall, Love, M/M, Models, Pain, Runways, Sex, geronimo - Freeform, waterfalls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:01:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3807922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts as it always does—a dull ache that slowly climbs and builds into a deafening crescendo that makes your eyes water and your teeth grit. You are not sure how much longer you can go on this way; crisscrossing the globe like the international darling that you never wanted to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Geronimo

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I am randomly inspired by music, mostly when I least expect it and when I'm not around my Macbook to write it down. This is the result of such inspiration.  
> Bonus points if you can guess the song, those I've already told don't count! ;)
> 
> Endless thanks to Unkissed for inspiration, friendship, and support. Several facts about Scorpius' future in the fashion world have come from their hand, I am only graciously borrowing and building upon them. 
> 
> For Albus, our favorite boy in the band.

You are sitting alone in first class aboard a muggle airplane when it happens—The all-consuming feeling of the world closing in around you. You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, unwilling to allow the strangers that surround you see you falter for even a moment. With your sight hindered it becomes much easier to pinpoint the location of the aching pain that swells inside of you and as you sit there, breathing quietly through your nose, you will it to just go the fuck away.

 

It starts as it always does—a dull ache that slowly climbs and builds into a deafening crescendo that makes your eyes water and your teeth grit. You are not sure how much longer you can go on this way; crisscrossing the globe like the international darling that you never wanted to be.

 

A soft rustle of fabric beside you announces the arrival of a smartly dressed stewardess and you quickly open your eyes and swallow down the whimper of desperation that is itching in the back of your throat. “Can I get you anything?” She asks with a subtle tilt of her head and you do not miss the demure curve of her coral painted lips as her eyes move over you like an unassuming predator.

 

“Vodka. Straight up.” Your tone is surprisingly even, considering the turmoil that was currently ripping your insides to shreds.

 

She nods lightly and turns away from you to tend to your request and you watch her move down the isle with detached fascination. Her gait is steady and practiced, something that you know enough about to appreciate on some level. Since your foray into the world of high fashion you have become all too familiar with what it feels like to walk with a purpose and for a brief moment you feel a kinship with this girl, however disjointed.

 

When the stewardess disappears behind a dividing curtain you turn your attention to the window, which offers little more than bleak scenery of fluffy whiteness that blots out the world that consumes you. You feel exhausted and weary and a small part of you wonders how long you can keep this façade going.

 

This had all started with a chance encounter. You don’t even remember where you were anymore; somewhere with Albus you are fairly certain. A woman who said you had a look that could serve you well on the pages of magazines had approached you in the street.  When she handed you a business card and suggested that you call her you had laughed it off. You had been happy traveling the world at Albus’ side, you had never had any intention of leaving him. Of course he had pressed the subject to the point of distraction; he loved you and despite all your insisting that you were perfectly happy being arm candy for the boy in the band, he knew you were full of shit. He knew you better than you had ever known yourself, which you find a little bit of humor in now.

 

Would Albus even recognize this version of you that sat here now, slumped in a posh reclining seat and drowning in vodka aboard a luxury airliner headed for Central America? 

 

When you are sufficiently inebriated it is much easier to ask yourself the difficult questions that you ignore in your more lucid moments. What happened? Where did you lose yourself? Was it in New York, Paris, or Milan? Hell, sometimes you aren’t even sure there was a _you_ to lose.

 

“Business or pleasure?” The question was simple enough; directed at you from the handsome stranger that sat in the seat across the isle from you. Even in your less-than-sober state you are anything but ignorant. Despite being in the business of appearing unaffected by the countless eyes that were _always_ on you, you always knew what those eyes wanted.  You manage a small laugh as you turn away from the window to gaze at this man who was practically salivating in your direction, mouth curving into a smirk. “That depends.” You say with a practiced shrug and then you raise your glass in his direction before swallowing down the remainder of its content.

 

When he laughs you do not miss the edge in his tone and you think that if you were perhaps slightly more sober, you might find that that edge grated your nerves. You have no reason to be hostile to this stranger; he is merely acting on an instinct that he cannot help. You have become accustomed to this sort of behavior since your face had become more known in the muggle world than it ever would be in its wizarding counterpart. You think that you should feel foolish for riding this sort of entitlement, but you cannot find it in yourself to care. Maybe those Malfoy genes were finally being put to good use after all.

 

It’s three drinks and some subtle conversation later when you find yourself pressed up against the sink in a cramped airplane facility. The spout is digging painfully into your spine and you find the discomfort distracting enough that you don’t have to think about the stranger’s hands that seem to be touching you everywhere at once.  He tells you how beautiful you are as his hand slides into the front of your jeans and when his fingers encircle your semi-hard cock you are saved from coming up with a witty retort.  

 

You let your head fall back against the mirror as he strokes you slowly, and although you don’t see the shift in his gaze, you know it’s there; it’s _always_ there. When he flips you around and bends you over the infantile sink you laugh in a way that sounds foreign to your own ears, and when he spits in his hand and takes his cock out you shut your eyes and accept your fate.

 

He forces himself inside of you with minimal preparation and the pain that radiates from within you pulls a soft whimper out of your mouth. You tell yourself that this is all that you will ever be because that is how you feel. He’s fucking you so hard into the basin that you are certain you will wear the shame of his bruise long after this flight has landed. You open your eyes and stare at your own reflection and you realize that you are a stranger in familiar skin and it makes you sick.

 

The moment passes quick enough, and before you can even button your fly and set your hair back into place he is gone; another nameless face that has managed to break off another little piece of you. You remain in that cramped bathroom for a long while, staring at the face of a broken little boy with accusing eyes.  You know that you should be ashamed of your behavior by this point. What would your family and friends say if they could see you now? And what about Albus? Yes, what about Albus?

 

By the time it had become clear that the demands of living two, completely separate high profile lives was becoming increasingly difficult, the strain on the relationship was already festering. The White Lies were on the never-ending tour of their lives and you were the face of fashion that everybody couldn’t get enough of. Your lives were headed in opposite directions, much like the separate aircrafts that you boarded in any given country. Of course, you had promised each other that you would always end up together, that had been the plan all along, but as time passed the distance grew and now you couldn’t help but wonder if it had been the biggest lie you had ever told yourself.

 

Costa Rica envelops you in its warm embrace the moment you step off the plane and as you slide a pair of sunglasses on to shield your eyes, you heave a cleansing sigh. You remain silent as you are ushered into a black limousine that swallows you whole. The ride to _Hacienda Pinilla_ was deafeningly quiet and you spend the majority of the trip gazing out the darkened window at beautiful scenery that is as out of reach as the control on your own life. Your mind is still back in that airplane bathroom and the haunting image of a face you do not recognize staring back at you. You know that something has to give, but you have become so utterly complacent that you don’t know what can be done at this point.

 

You are inside your hotel room when you fish the mobile out of your pocket and swipe your thumb across the screen to bring it to life. It takes mere seconds to pull up the ongoing conversation you’ve carried on with Albus via text message. The last text sent is from Albus, letting you know that they are in Las Vegas for a two-night charity gig at the Hard Rock—That was six weeks ago. 

 

Your fingers hover over the screen, aching to break the silence but terrified of the rejection that you know is inevitable. There are so many things you want to say to him; so many experiences that you have been longing to share with him. Trivial things like the weather in London or the taste of the champagne in New York begin to feel like excuses to avoid what you both had known was coming for a long time. It scares you to know that you are no longer capable of talking to the one person that you were supposed to always be able to turn to. You tell yourself that you should have held on tighter, but what about Albus? Why didn’t he hold on too?

 

A softer sigh escapes you as you drop the mobile back in your pocket and cross the room towards the French doors that lead out onto a balcony.  When you step outside the warm coastal air envelops you once again and you feel like it’s the most meaningful embrace you’ve had in months. You stand at the edge of your very own private balcony for a long time, watching crystalline waves break on cinnamon sand beneath a waning sun high above. You find yourself lost in thoughts and memories of the past and you think that a beach this beautiful is wasted on someone like you. You long to abandon your designer shoes and bury your toes in that sand but you have an obscenely early call time in the morning. After all, you aren’t in Costa Rica for pleasure; this is _definitely_ business.

 

You have become the closest thing to a face that Mercedes Benz Fashion Week will ever know, and this is merely the most recent destination. Your alarm wakes you from a dream that you don’t recall and you sit up in the darkness and tell yourself that you can do this. Backstage you are primped and dressed in expensive casual wear that you are expected to sell to the crowd out front that is all waiting for a piece of you. You sit alone with a set of headphones drowning out the chaos of the moments happening all around you. You find solace and comfort in the music that blares in your ears and besides, it’s not like any of your fellow male models afford you more than a condescending glance. You’ve earned yourself a righteous title in this world on the backs of countless others who you think are jealous of your good fortune. They choose to shun you because they assume you think you are above them but what you never tell them is that you are doing them a favor.  These people are not your friends; you treat your friends far worse.

 

It is beneath the scrutiny of the world that loves you and a million flashing lights that you feel it again; the crippling pain in your chest that makes you want to jump off the end of the runway and run until you collapse. It twists your insides like the sharpest blade and just when you think you cannot take it a second longer, you are off the stage and free to fall apart out of reach of the universe beyond. Someone laughs under their breath in your direction and your knuckles go white because this is not anything that you wish to share with anyone else. When a haughty face with a French accent calls you _Ice Queen_ , you grit your teeth and disappear into the folds of assistants that tug at every inch of you. You are changed and blotted and shoved back out onto the never ending runway to sell yourself just a little bit more. You become snow blind to the flashing lights and the deafening beats and when it is all over you finally feel like you can breath again.

 

The sun is still high overhead when you step out into the street and start walking aimlessly. Your eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses that give you just enough anonymity that you don’t feel uncomfortable. You walk without purpose or direction, drawing strength from salty warm air and local beauty.  The people that you pass don’t even give you a second glance and you find that fact oddly cathartic and you smile, despite the turmoil of your inner workings.

 

When you sink down into the sand at the edge of a sprawling beach you hug your knees and stare out into the ocean. You remember Uncle Theo talking endlessly about Costa Rica and all of the hidden treasures to be found and you smile a bit sadly. You wonder what your parents are doing now. You can almost picture your father and Theo sitting on the sofa by the fireplace back at home; smoking each other’s cigarettes and reminiscing about carefree days spent on beaches around the world. Your father would undoubtedly say something vaguely inappropriate about the strength of privacy charms and Uncle Theo would smack his arm playfully before they both chuckled knowingly to themselves. You miss them desperately even though they were both often present in the audience at the shows you walked. You had grown up surrounded by their unbreakable bond and had always wanted that for yourself, which was sort of ironic considering your current state. 

 

Your thoughts move back to Albus and the vision of his smiling face mutes out every other thought in your head. He is out pursuing his dream while you waste your time pursuing something you happen to be good at and you feel selfish for thinking that you would trade it all in a heartbeat for another day wrapped in his love.

 

By the time the sun begins to disappear beyond the horizon you have visited every emotion that you could possibly possess. You feel tired; tired of running and tired of pretending you are unaffected. Tears burn in the corners of your eyes and you wonder how you can possibly go back after everything that has happened. You want to be worth it to those who matter, not just the strangers that love you.

 

When you don’t return to your hotel room your management team begins to worry and eventually make some inevitable phone calls. You remain on your little square of beach long after dark. Your skins cools to the temperature of marble and your teeth chatter gently against one another and you know that you cannot go back.  Of course you will be disappointing countless people including your father, but when have you ever cared about that?  You spend the night walking with a found purpose and you feel freer and more alive than you have in a very long time.  You have no idea what you are doing or where you are headed, but you know that it is the right thing to do.

 

Morning comes as it always does and when you open your eyes your neck is stiff and your back is sore from being pressed up against the side of a large outcropping of rocks. You had stopped walking at some point the night before and fallen asleep, which doesn’t disturb you nearly as much as it should. When you stand up and stretch your body out into a fluid and graceful line you revel in the foreign sensations that make you feel like you might finally be living again. The coastal city that surrounds you has already begun to rise and you slip anonymously into its folds. You find a small café and have a light breakfast and you find humor in the knowledge that the world you had just abandoned was most likely losing their collective shit at this very moment. Your father was not only a very scary individual when he wanted to be, but he was one of the most lucrative investors the fashion world had ever chanced upon. You felt a fleeting moment of pity for the sad person who had the misfortune of informing him that they had _lost_ his only child.

 

You can’t help smile at the thought of your father’s face when the news is broken to him and before you can help yourself you are laughing into your coffee cup. Of course this draws attention to you, but not in the unwelcome ways that you have become accustomed to. The eyes that are on you here are startlingly different than those of the cruel world you have only just abandoned and when your waitress visits your table to ask if you require anything more, you can only laugh harder.  Of course she doesn’t understand your madness and she watches you with a polite smile as you compose yourself enough to form actual words. “Tell me, what’s the one thing I should not miss?” You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and stare up at her, not missing the way your peculiar question catches her off guard. She is young, probably much younger than you are and has the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. Her brows draw together delicately as she appears to contemplate your question with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Seconds that feel like nothing tick past and when she smiles warmly at you, you wait for your answer. “Ricon de la Vieja.” She replies, still smiling, and although you haven’t a clue what it means, you are inclined to believe her.

 

By the time you step out of the café you are full on _Gallo pinto_ and strong black coffee. It doesn’t take you long to procure a driver and before you can think twice about the consequences of your actions, you are in the back of a Rubicon headed towards _Rincon de la Vieja National park._  You know that you are being reckless and careless but you don’t care and you don’t bother to try and explain it to anyone. It has become increasingly clear over the past couple of years that no one understands you or what you have become, and although there was a time in your life when you thought that there was at least one person who did, you can’t live in the comfort of that lie forever.

 

It is atop a massive waterfall when you feel it; the one thing you thought you had lost forever. Cool emerald waters lap at your feet as you stand there, taking in the moment that envelops you. You look out across the tops of massive clusters of forestry and wonder if this is what it feels like to find yourself. You have spent the last couple of years forcing yourself to feel nothing at all and it is at this exact moment that you are overwhelmed with the weight of living.

 

It doesn’t matter what has happened or what hasn’t happened yet because you can’t control any of it. When you close your eyes the sounds of rushing water flood your ears and you stand there at the edge of your life, feeling naked and alive. You can’t help but think of Albus and you wonder if even he could understand a moment like this. Everything that has been consuming every part of you comes to a head in the blink of an eye and you find yourself crying without even realizing it. You feel clean and free and nothing else matters but this precise moment in your life.

 

When you open your eyes the world is still waiting for you but now you think you can see it in a different light. You take a step closer to the edge of the waterfall, peering down over the edge into the fathomless white of rushing water below. You have no idea what will happen after this moment and you don’t care because this is something that you need to do. You are so in tune with the solace that surrounds you that you don’t hear the splash of water behind you; don’t hear the desperate cries that can’t quite reach you.  You suck in a deep breath and hold it in your lungs and the world stills in your ears. _Scorpius!_ You hear it as the softest whisper on the wings of a breeze at first and you smile because it sounds like Albus. Of course Albus is half a world away right now, but you wonder if maybe he’s thinking of you at this moment too.  You take another step closer to the edge and the rush of water nearly knocks you off balance. You find your footing on mossy rocks below the surface and stand tall. Up here, all alone you are lost, but you think that maybe you can find yourself in the curtains of the waterfall and so you jump.

 

_Geronimo_

 

You never hear the frantic scream behind you or see the terrified look in Albus’ eyes as he struggles against the current to reach you. When you jump his eyes go wide and all of the breath comes out of his lungs in a rushed gasp for air. He reaches the edge you had occupied only seconds before with a strangled cry, feeling stupid and helpless because he wasn’t just a little bit faster. He has been thinking about you a lot lately; in the darkness of night when he’s alone and in the center of the stage surrounded by a million fans screaming his name. Every time he sees your face staring down at him from a billboard or up at him from the pages of a magazine he feels it too—the unmistakable pain of loss. He knows he should have reached out sooner but he didn’t have it in him to deal with the rejection. For a fleeting moment he remains frozen where he kneels, overwhelmed in the face of the greatest loss he will ever experience. If only he would have…

 

_Bombs away_

When Albus jumps off the edge of the waterfall he thinks he is following you into oblivion and he is ready to accept that fate. The fall is larger than he anticipated and as he hovers suspended, he watches the narrow pool below rushing up to greet him. He doesn’t regret what he’s done just now as much as he does the things he’s _not_ done. 

 

When he hits the pool of emerald waters the wind is knocked out of him and he sinks below the surface, gasping for air that is replaced by cool water. He doesn’t know if he’s alive or dead and he finds the lower he sinks, the less he cares. He stares up at the swirling distorted image of sunshine that glitters between branches of trees he will never climb and he feels at peace. 

 

It doesn’t matter what happens now, nothing matters anymore.

 

You hit the water with a grace that only a Malfoy could possibly possess. Your dive is elegant and poised and the sting of cool water on your arms and face make your skin tingle in the best ways. You smile as you break the surface of the water and your first gulp of air feels like being reborn. You only have a moment, perhaps two to revel in the sensation of reawakening before a loud crash upsets the pool of water beside you. Your eyes fly open and you glance around, unsure of what’s just happened. It doesn’t take you long to realize that it’s Albus who has upset your moment because you can see the black of his hair floating just beneath the surface.

 

You reach for him, pulling him up from below and stare at him incredulously as he coughs water out of his lungs. For a moment you are convinced that you are dead because this can’t possibly be reality. “Albus?” You whisper, afraid to break the mirage of make believe.  You may have just thrown the dirty and broken pieces of yourself over the edge of a massive waterfall, but there was no denying that you desperately wanted this to be real.

 

“Scor,” He sputters, and when he eyes slide open your breath catches in your throat.

 

“What are you doing here?” You breathe, fingers clenched so tightly to him that your knuckles are quickly whitening.

 

“Looking for you,” He says around a bashful smile that makes your heart hurt.

 

You glance up at the waterfall that stretches high above you, squinting as you attempted to find that invisible ledge. “You jumped?” You ask quietly, lowering your gaze to him.

 

“Thought you were trying to off yourself.” He adds with another smile and a slightly awkward laugh.

 

Your expression quickly turns from incredulous to withering and he laughs harder before throwing his arms around you and pulling you close. “You think I would do something like that?” You ask as your arms wind around his middle. 

 

“Not without me,” He says quietly and then you both fall silent.

 

You stand waist-deep in water at the mouth of that waterfall for a long time, overcome with emotion you had only comes to term with expelling. You had no idea what Albus was doing here or why he thought you could ever be so careless but you knew that the blame lay with both of you. It didn’t matter what had happened or what was said because at the end of everything it will always be just him and just you. The realization leaves you raw and open and you cling to him harder, not because you are afraid, but because you missed him desperately.

 

It is a long while later when you pull back enough to look him in the eyes again. You think you can see forever in those emerald eyes that rival the waters that swirl around you and it takes your breath away like you were fifteen all over again. “How did you find me?” You ask softly, your fingertips tracing over the lines of his face; reacquainting it to your memory.

 

“I’ll always find you. No matter what.” He says without hesitation, and when he looks at you just like _that_ , you are inclined to believe him.


End file.
